


Sherlollipops - Two To Tango (Waltz, Whatever)

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [185]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, Sherlolly - Freeform, if there is such a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs a dancing partner, but somehow he and Molly end up in a horizontal mambo. Seriously, that's about all the plot there is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Two To Tango (Waltz, Whatever)

**Author's Note:**

> Slight Janine bashing as I project my feelings for her onto Molly (yes, I know Sherlock done her wrong, my dislike is irrational and I admit it.)

Sherlock needed a date. More specifically, he needed a dancing partner for the following night. He informed Molly of that within two seconds of entering her flat as she was trying to prepare dinner for herself. A real dinner, not take-away or a fry-up for a change.

“Ask Janine,” Molly said when he rather high-handedly told her – _told_ her! – that he needed her to perform at a fundraiser so he could scope out the suspect. “Isn’t she your go-to for this sort of thing?” She hated that she was still so sensitive about Sherlock taking Janine to a few undercover formal events as his date, even if it was just as friends. No, sensitive was the wrong word: she was jealous and just needed to admit it.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and studied her closely from his spot on her sofa. “And don’t deduce me!” she snapped, pointing the knife she’d been using to chop up vegetables at him. “It’s rude.”

“So is being snippy about Janine,” Sherlock pointed out – reasonably, for a change, but Molly was in no mood to be reasonable.

“I can be snippy about whoever I want in my own flat,” she retorted, bringing the knife back to the counter and chopping viciously into a carrot. He winced, and she gave it an extra hack for emphasis. “Especially when I’m being given orders instead of being _asked_ to do something.” A performance in front of a bunch of wealthy dance aficionados? There was no _way_ she was ready for that, even if Sherlock had been teaching her formal ballroom dancing for the past six weeks. Just on a lark, he’d said; he was bored, he’d said, but now… “And how long have you known about this event, exactly?”

He had the decency to look abashed as he mumbled, “Two months, give or take.”

Oh, she KNEW it, she KNEW he hadn’t been just teaching her to dance out of boredom! “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you mean to tell me you’ve known all along that you wanted me to dance with you at this event, in front of a huge crowd of snobs…AND YOU WAITED TIL NOW TO TELL ME?!?”

With a yowl Toby jumped off Sherlock’s lap and scurried into the hall, no doubt headed for his favorite hiding place under her bed. Molly slammed the knife on the granite island that divided her kitchen from her sitting room, not trusting herself to keep hold of it as she stalked over to where Sherlock was sitting on her sofa, staring at her with an expression of mild alarm.

“Now, Molly, it was only to keep you from getting nervous and worked up about it – and besides, Janine’s too busy with that new boyfriend of hers, the beekeeper, to have the time to improve her dancing to your level.”

The implication that he had actually considered Janine for his partner didn’t get by Molly, but the fact that she was being compared favorably to the other woman did give her pause. “Was that…a compliment?” she wondered aloud more than asked.

Sherlock frowned up at her; she’d come to a stop directly in front of him. “Yes, of course it was. You’re a natural, Molly, I told you that when I started the lessons. Far more graceful than would appear watching you clump around the morgue. And much better than your awkward moves on the dance floor at John and Mary’s wedding,” he added with a brief frown.

Ah, there it was, the poison in the apple, the insult in the compliment. “Sherlock, you should have just stopped at ‘you’re a natural’,” she sighed as she plopped onto the sofa next to him. She dug her phone out of her back pocket and started the search app.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up info on this fundraiser to see what I’m getting myself in for,” she replied, scanning the article she found.

Sherlock plucked the mobile out of her hands; with an outraged “Hey!” she grabbed for it, foiled by his long arms as he held it above his head. Undeterred, Molly jumped to her feet, wobbling a bit on the overstuffed cushions, and lunged for her phone. “Gimme!”

Later she would reflect on what a supremely bad idea that had been, but considering the positive outcome of the actions she’d taken, she wouldn’t fret over it. Because of _course_ she toppled onto Sherlock as he yanked his arm further away from her grasping hands, and of _course_ he dropped her phone in his attempts to keep them both from falling onto the floor, and of _course_ while doing so he just happened to grab her boobs and of _course_ her own hand had landed in the area of the male anatomy often referred to as ‘below the belt’.

As she half-knelt over him, their hands still in inappropriate locations for two people who were just friends, two sets of eyes wide and staring, all Molly could think was, _Well, so much for being graceful._

Sherlock cleared his throat. Loudly. “Um, Molly, that’s really not the right hand placement for a waltz. Or a tango, for that matter.”

“Yeah, well, your hands aren’t exactly properly placed either,” she breathed. Breathed rather than snarked or sniped because, well, his hands weren’t exactly _still_ where they encircled her breasts. No, they were moving around a bit, and not because he was afraid she was going to fall. In fact, had he been a man who was interested in such things, she’d describe the movement as ‘fondling’.

But this was Sherlock, so she must be imagining…Her mind went blank as everything stopped: time, her breathing, her movements, even (it seemed) her heart as she realized that the area where her hand was resting wasn’t exactly…unaffected. “Sherlock, are you, is that, am I…”

“I am, it is, and you are,” he replied in the affirmative, raising his hips a bit in order to grind his erection – an erection, she was touching Sherlock’s erection through his trousers and pants! – against her palm. Not only that, but his voice was just as breathy as hers. The next sound he gave was a definite groan as she gave a tentative squeeze to the rapidly-hardening erection. “Molly, may I suggest that if we’re going to continue doing this, we might consider removing clothes and perhaps finding a condom? I’m afraid I haven’t carried one in my wallet since my first year at uni.”

“Is that when you stopped having sex?” Molly asked with a small squeak as he continued to squeeze and fondle her breasts.

“Pretty much,” he admitted. “But my sexual history isn’t really what I’m interested in right now, if you don’t mind. I’d much rather do something about my sexual present – and future,” he added as he finally released her breasts, but only in order to pull her close enough to kiss her.

And oh, what a kiss! Soft and gentle, then hard and demanding as his tongue slid between her lips. She finally moved her hands, sliding them up his lovely, fit chest, lingering a bit on his broad shoulders, ending up tangled in his dark curls. She’d had fantasies about those curls, and the reality was just as lovely as she’d imagined. They were soft and springy, and when she tugged, he moaned against her mouth. “Condom?” he managed after a few enjoyable moments, his voice a groan and his hands fumbling with the buttons to her blouse.

“On the pill,” she replied, reaching down to work on the tight, tight buttons of his tight, tight shirt. She’d had fantasies about his shirts as well, fantasies involving popping those buttons off one by one and watching them ping around the room, but decided to save that for another time. When he wasn’t wearing her favorite aubergine shirt. One of the white ones would be better, she decided distractedly as Sherlock pulled her into a more comfortable position on top of him. One that placed her now-bare breasts (clever man, getting bra and blouse off at the same time!) right over that gorgeous mouth of his.

“M’cleamph,” he mumbled around a mouthful of breast. His hands were now undoing the snap and zip to her trousers, and she was pinching his nipples and nipping his ear and extremely distracted...but she got the gist of what he was telling her.

He was clean; no drugs, no STIs, nothing for her to worry about. Once upon a time she might have doubted him, but not now; he’d given his word and kept his promises after John and Mary’s baby was born. Knowing that, all she said was, “Mm-hmm,” to let him know she understood him.

Then they were both naked and far too busy fitting his dangly bits into her lady parts for further speech. Well, aside from the occasional, “oh that’s lovely, do that again!” or “Jesus, Molly, where did you learn that move - no, don’t tell me!” and the like. And moaning - there was a great deal of moaning, sighing, groaning, and (on Molly’s part) squealing for either of them to spare the breath for many actual words.

A lovely half-hour later they lay draped across one another on Molly’s flowered (and now slightly soiled, ugh, it was going to take a lot of work to clean it up) sofa. Basking, sated, and quite pleased with themselves and each other. “That was amazing,” Molly said as she rested her head on Sherlock’s chest.

“Mmm,” he agreed, running his fingers lightly up and down her arm where it was draped over his midsection. “I do hope you don’t mind if I tell you I’d really like to do that again in, let’s say, an hour?”

“Sounds perfect.” Molly let out a contented sigh, her eyelids drooping as she started to drift into post-coital slumber. However, those same eyes popped open a few seconds later as he mumbled something against her neck. She lifted her head and glared down at him. “What did you just say?” she demanded.

He blinked and gazed at her innocently. “I just said I look forward to doing this again after the benefit.” His next words came out as a muffled “oof” as Molly smacked him in the face with the nearest pillow. “What?” he demanded as soon as he’d yanked the pillow from her grasp. “What did I say?”

“Sherlock Holmes, if you just slept with me to try to talk me into dancing with you at that-that _thing_ …”

He pulled her down, ignoring her protests, and waited for her to stop struggling before speaking. “The one has nothing to do with the other,” he assured her. He pressed a sweet kiss to her lips, and Molly felt her fury abating.

“Promise?” she asked, making sure to hold his gaze. He was a rubbish liar when it came to her, always had been, and, God willing, always would be.

“Promise,” he replied, lips curled in a small smile. “However, since you brought it up…”

Negotiations were protracted and involved him cooking not only that night’s dinner, but dinner on every Friday (unless he had a case over a six) for the rest of the summer.

All in all, Molly thought as he twirled her through their waltz at the benefit the next night, she’d got the better part of the deal.

Being the one to bring down the suspect by throwing her shoe at him when he tried to flee custody at the end of the night was just the icing on the cake.


End file.
